


Pollen

by TonightNoPoetryWillServe



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Mostly porn and pornographic thoughts, Possessive Behavior, Sexy pollen made them do it, So many tropes sorry!, Spock!POV, They don't really mind though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonightNoPoetryWillServe/pseuds/TonightNoPoetryWillServe
Summary: Spock knows that he is required by both duty and friendship to listen to Jim’s words. Unfortunately, all he can think about is how Jim’s soft pink lips felt wrapped around various parts of his anatomy.“I’m so sorry for what happened down there, Spock. For the fact that you were forced into that against your will.”Spock groans as Jim sucks two fingers into his mouth, his world momentarily going white with pleasure. He cannot help thrusting his fingers into that wet heat as his other hand works the clasp of Jim’s pants. The need to touch every inch of Jim is dizzying. Spock momentarily leaves the heat of Jim’s mouth to tear the human's shirt from his body.“I swear to you, it won’t affect our working relationship. Or our friendship. I won’t let it.” Jim’s face is the picture of sincere remorse.AKA the one where sex pollen made them do it, and then Spock can't stop obsessing over it. Unbeta'd.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 39
Kudos: 307





	1. Chapter 1

Spock knows that he is required by both duty and friendship to listen to Jim’s words. Unfortunately, all he can think about is how Jim’s soft pink lips felt wrapped around various parts of his anatomy.

“I’m so sorry for what happened down there, Spock. For the fact that you were forced into that against your will.”

_Spock groans as Jim sucks two fingers into his mouth, his world momentarily going white with pleasure. He cannot help thrusting his fingers into that wet heat as his other hand works the clasp of Jim’s pants. The need to touch every inch of Jim is dizzying. Spock momentarily leaves the heat of Jim’s mouth to tear the human's shirt from his body._

“I swear to you, it won’t affect our working relationship. Or our friendship. I won’t let it.” Jim’s face is the picture of sincere remorse. Most illogically, Spock feels the compulsion to laugh—but other compulsions are far stronger. 

_Jim’s head tips back as Spock shoves him roughly onto the desk; the sight of the naked human splayed beneath him sends his arousal impossibly higher. Spock has only taken the time to free his cock from his trousers—he is too impatient to undress fully. It is far more important that he keep touching Jim. His mouth finds Jim’s clavicle, biting down hard, tasting him, marking him. He twines their fingers roughly together, scraping his thumbnail across Jim’s palm in a passionate Vulcan kiss._

Jim is looking at him expectantly, nervously; an answer is clearly expected. Spock cannot calculate how long it takes him to formulate a response, but eventually he manages. “No apology is necessary. We were not in control of our actions.”

 _“Please, please,” Jim begs as Spock’s fingers stretch him, preparing him. Jim fucks himself down onto those fingers, his own hands gripping at Spock, trying to pull him closer, encourage him to move faster. “Need you, God, I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me._ Now _, Spock.”_

A small measure of tension eases from Jim’s shoulders. “I know that, but… I just can’t imagine what that loss of control must have been like for you. And I just—I hate the idea of you associating something so negative with me.” He scrubs a hand through his hair; the movement disturbs his command shirt just enough to reveal one of the fading bruises Spock kissed into his skin.

_Fingers press bruises into Jim’s hips as he finally sides inside, unable to withhold a moan of pleasure as Jim clenches around him. Nothing has prepared him for the slick, hot warmth of Jim’s body. It is the most exquisite feeling in the universe, and Spock holds himself still for a long moment to keep from coming right then. “Move, please, please, need you,” Jim babbles, arching up into him. Spock complies, pulling out and thrusting back in. One hand seizes Jim’s erection, and with one long stroke they are both coming. Spock nearly blacks out, but it is not enough, never enough, and he doesn’t even slow down. Jim is still begging him, nearly crying in need._

Spock wonders momentarily if the pollen has not been entirely neutralized, if perhaps he is still infected. That would explain this desperate need demanding that he tear Jim’s clothing from his body, that he renew the litany of bruises on Jim’s skin, that he once again push inside Jim’s tight heat. His heart rate and respiration increase unnaturally at the thought. 

“Jim,” he whispers, horrified by the hoarse sound of his own voice; it seems impossible that Jim cannot discern his desire. “What occurred has not negatively impacted my opinion of you.” 

_Jim’s pink lips stretch around Spock’s cock, sucking and humming along his pale green length. Spock cannot help thrusting shallowly into his mouth, and Jim seizes his hips, encouraging him to move, accepting him deeper. His tongue slides expertly along the bottom of Spock’s cock. Jim is too practiced at this, and the thought sends a bolt of rage through Spock that others have dared to take what should belong only to him. But the thought is immediately driven from his head by a particularly clever swipe of Jim’s tongue, and when Spock comes with a groan, Jim sucks him down, swallowing every drop._

A relieved, albeit still hesitant smile appears on Jim’s face; he lips his licks, and Spock zeroes in on the action. He wants that tongue swirling over the head of his cock, teasing the webbing between his fingers, licking inside his mouth. He does not think has ever _wanted_ this badly in his life.

“I’m really glad to hear that Spock. I just—I had to make sure.”

_“I need you again,” Jim pleads brokenly. “Spock, I need you.”_

_“Can I—your mind,” Spock pleads, his fingers splaying over Jim’s face._

_“Yes,” Jim hisses out, and when their minds collide, Spock is home. He takes Jim on the floor, against the wall, on the desk again, the meld never breaking even though his hands are occupied elsewhere, mapping every inch of Jim’s body, shuddering as Jim drags a nail along his ear. He does not stop, cannot stop, will never stop. He is enveloped in the warmth and brightness that is_ Jim _and he never wants it to end, never wants to relinquish this._

“I will always be your friend,” Spock says. He is having an inordinate amount of difficulty following the conversation, and can only hope this is an appropriate response. "Is your view of me.. negatively impacted by our encounter?"

Jim laughs as if the question is absurd; the noise goes straight to Spock's cock. “Of course not. Look, I’ve gotta get going, but maybe we can play chess tonight after shift?”

 _The pollen appears to have run its course, but they are both too sated to disengage. Jim looks thoroughly debauched. His hair is in disarray, his lips wet and swollen with kisses, his body littered with the imprint of Spock’s teeth and fingers. “Never been fucked that good,” Jim whispers, and passes out in his arms. Spock feels a swell of satisfaction at the words, at the clear evidence on his body, at the contented way he curls closer to Spock in sleep._

Spock desperately wants to say yes to the invitation for chess, wants Jim to return to his quarters, wants to get Jim pleading and begging and pliant beneath him; desperately wants to say no, terrified that his control is so thin. “That would be agreeable.”

Jim grins now, his concerns assuaged. For a horrifying moment, Spock thinks that Jim will touch him. That a simple clasp on the shoulder is all it will take to unleash his barely restrained desire. But Jim does not touch him, and a moment later he is gone.

Sagging against the wall, Spock tries to regain equilibrium. While he has known, objectively, that Jim is an attractive human, he has always been in control of his desires. Even in his physical relationship with Nyota, he never lost control. But their pollen-induced encounter on Denobula III has obliterated his carefully crafted shields, unleashing a desire so powerful he does not know how to contain it. 

He does not even want to. He wants to take his Captain again and again. Wants to sink into his body and his mind until there is no space between them, until Jim forgets every other partner, wants no other partner. 

Yet Jim has given no indication that he desires Spock when not under the pollen's influence. It could irreparably damage their relationship if he were to act on these impulses. He must purge them.

His attempt at meditation is mildly effective—until he is once again in Jim’s proximity. Twenty-three minutes before their chess appointment, he hears the shower turn on in their shared bathroom. The images come immediately, vividly. Not merely memories, but fantasies, all the stronger for having actually experienced intercourse with his Captain: the water cascading over Jim’s body. The expression on Jim’s face as Spock drops to his knees to take him into his mouth. The taste of him heavy and full on Spock’s tongue. The pleas and moans that fall from Jim’s lips as Spock pushes him against the shower wall and finally thrusts inside him.

Spock shudders, trying desperately to exorcize the vivid images from his mind. Jim will be in his room in approximately 18.21 minutes. This thought, which is intended to aid him in reestablishing control, has the opposite effect. Now he is assaulted by the images of Jim here in his room instead. It would be humorous if it were not so appalling. 

Things grow exponentially worse when Jim arrives in his room. He is dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans that hug the curve of his ass. The shirt’s collar is lower than his uniform, revealing the evidence of their passionate coupling. His hair is still damp, and his smile is exceedingly warm. Spock has carefully catalogued the smiles that Jim uses in different contexts; this smile is reserved only for Spock, though its exact meaning is unclear.

“You set up the board while I get us something to drink—tea for you?”

Spock inclines his head and moves automatically toward the board. Once the pieces are set, he forces himself to sit, if only because it will be more difficult for him to touch the Captain from a seated position.

Jim sets the mugs down on the table and Spock blinks, momentarily startled from his very inappropriate line of thought. The smell is familiar, but unexpected. “Vulcan spice tea?”

“You mentioned that it wasn’t programmed in the replicators. I decided that needed to change—how is it?”

Spock takes a sip and for a moment he is back on Vulcan, with his mother, looking out at the dusty red sky. The surge of emotion is unexpected in its intensity: gratitude to Jim for programming the replicator, a cloying grief for what he has lost, a fruitless desire to bring Jim home to Vulcan. “Excellent,” he says softly. “I am grateful. How long did this take you?”

“Not long,” Jim says dismissively. 

Spock estimates it took 6.21 hours. Somehow, the gesture of kindness drives his mind back to desire, now tinged with something deeper. His resolve cannot endure in the face of Jim's kindness, coupled with the gentle blue eyes gazing at Spock affectionately. He opens his mouth to say something wholly inappropriate—and then the red alert sounds.

“Damn,” Jim says, rising to his feet and going to the conn to call the bridge. “What’s going on?”

There’s a distress call from Lorna II and the _Enterprise_ is the closest ship to it. Thirty-two seconds later, Jim and Spock are striding to the bridge. A yeoman meets them there with a gold command shirt that Jim pulls over his head. 

Spock forces himself not to look at Jim as he focuses on his duty.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you all right, Captain?” It is entirely logical for Spock to carefully examine his Captain’s body to assess the extent of his injuries. What is not logical is the way his eyes are drawn to the bare expanse of his chest where his shirts have been torn nearly in two. Thankfully, Jim appears to have suffered only minor scrapes and bruises. They mingle with the remaining evidence of their sexual encounter, which has not yet faded in its entirety. Dermal regenerators are effective at removing cuts; bruises, less so. Spock attempts to quell the satisfaction he feels at seeing those particular bruises.

“I’m fine, Mr. Spock,” Jim replies, sounding weary.

“You have torn your shirts.” This statement is unnecessary; Jim must surely be aware. 

But Jim glances down at himself as if noticing for the first time. “So I have—the quartermaster’s going to have my head for ruining another one.” He brushes a bit of dirt off his chest; Spock’s eyes track the movement hungrily, imagining his own hand there instead. “We should get back to the ship.”

The distress signal had been issued because a longstanding conflict between the two species that shared Lorna II had threatened to break out into a full-scale war. Jim had expertly negotiated a temporary truce, but then a radical who desired war had attacked the proceedings, resulting in Jim’s torn clothing and minor injuries. When Jim did not blame either side for the attack, both decided he was the right person to negotiate a long-term peace accord. 

Thankfully, full negotiations will not begin for several days, so they can return to the _Enterprise_ , where Jim must rest—although rest is not what Spock desires. Witnessing his Captain employ his considerable diplomatic skills, combined with the brief albeit very real danger to his life, has only heightened the desires that burn under Spock’s skin like a sickness. Jim’s chest bared before him is exacerbating the affect, rendering his attempts at mitigation fruitless. Spock forces his gaze to Jim’s eyes; predictably, the startlingly blue gaze does nothing to dim the arousal that seems to be near-constant when he is in proximity to the Captain. This is why Vulcans do not allow themselves to feel; the feelings are so much more powerful than those of a human. 

“Affirmative,” Spock manages, and hails the ship.

Dr. McCoy meets them in the transporter room, and after a quick scan, agrees that the Captain can retire to his quarters to rest. “And straight to bed, y’hear?”

 _Yes, to bed,_ Spock thinks. But he has something different envisioned for the Captain in bed: his naked body arching up to meet Spock’s, his legs wrapped around Spock’s waist as he begs Spock for _more, harder_. 

“You got it, Bones.” Jim is clearly too tired to argue, and sets off in the direction of his quarters. Spock falls into step beside him, acutely aware of his proximity, and of the admiring looks Jim’s half-naked form receives from members of the crew who pass them in the corridor. He narrows his eyes at a particularly starstruck yeoman, who scurries away quickly. Jim does not appear to notice any of it.

When they reach the Captain’s quarters, Jim turns to face him. “This has been a hell of a day. I’m beat.”

 _Beat: a colloquialism for exhausted._ Spock knows the meaning, and yet: “‘Beat,’ Captain?”

As he expects, the question elicits a soft laugh from Jim. The skin at the corners of his eyes creases in an illogically appealing manner, his lips curving in the smile that is reserved for Spock alone. “Goodnight, Mr. Spock.” 

Spock has been utilizing every technique at his disposal to remain in control. But as Jim turns to enter his quarters, his hand lands on Spock’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly. It is a gesture of comradery that Jim has employed numerous times before and connotates neither sexual desire nor invitation, yet the touch sends a jolt of warmth through Spock that seems to suffuse his entire being, and lingers even after Jim’s hand drops.

His control is already decimated by seeing his Captain in his element, in danger, and in less than his full uniform. Now, it snaps.

Spock does not intend to follow Jim inside his quarters, but his body moves without conscious thought. 

Jim turns to him, beautiful blue eyes wide in surprise. “Spock, what—” 

He is entirely too attractive, too perfect, and he is _right there._ Spock’s hands wrap around his Captain’s waist, pulling the human to him as he fits their mouths together urgently. Jim’s soft lips part in a surprised gasp, and Spock cannot resist deepening the kiss, tasting him as he has longed to do for every moment of the 42.17 hours since their pollen-fueled encounter ended. 

After a 3.1 second hesitation, Jim returns the kiss, his arms reaching to wind in Spock’s hair; he cannot withhold the triumphant noise that slips from his lips into Jim’s mouth. His hands slide the remaining tatters of Jim’s shirt from his body, one hand tangling with Jim’s, the finger to finger contact sending waves of lust coursing through him.

But then Jim pulls away, driving a frustrated groan from Spock’s lips. Jim’s pupils are blown, his pulse elevated, and he is so devastatingly beautiful that Spock wants nothing more than to pull him close again. “Wait, wait… Spock, what—is it the pollen still?”

“No,” Spock grinds out. Under other circumstances, he would detest the rough timbre of his voice that betrays the existence of his emotions. But now only one thing matters: “It is you. You consume me, Jim. Ever since Denobula III, I have thought of nothing but you, nothing but _this_.” His hands tighten on Jim’s waist.

Blue eyes widen; Jim is uncharacteristically speechless. 

“Please, Jim… I need you.” 

Jim’s gaze softens, grows heated. “Then you’ve got me.” 

And then Jim is kissing him. Thankfully, the need for speech is at an end. All that remains is the exquisite feel of Jim pressed against Spock’s body, the way his teeth trap Spock’s tongue and tease it. Spock wants to methodically explore every inch of his Captain’s body, to map his skin, to draw forth every possible shudder and moan; and he wants to be inside Jim as quickly as possible. He settles for continuing to touch Jim, pinching one of Jim’s nipples and then locking away in his memory the breathless little laugh this elicits.

He nearly growls when he has to stop exploring briefly as Jim pulls the shirt up over his head. His hands then seize Jim’s hips and maneuver him back toward the sleeping alcove, his teeth scraping against Jim’s jaw and then biting down on his pulse point. Somehow, they manage to divest each other of their remaining clothing. Jim bucks his hips against Spock’s, the move sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure through Spock. He slides a hand between them to stroke them together. 

“Fuck, Spock,” Jim whispers, and Spock is elated by the sheer need and want in Jim’s voice, the realization that he still desires Spock so urgently, even without the pollen.

“That is my intention,” Spock murmurs against his skin.

“God, Spock, you can’t just— _oh._ ” Spock sucks another bruise into his skin. It feels inordinately important that Jim continue to bear the evidence of their joining. “You can’t just say things like—woah!” 

Spock lifts him up and deposits him onto the bed, pausing briefly to drink in the sight of him splayed there before descending upon him. After another passionate kiss, he flips Jim over and begins to kiss and nip his way down Jim’s back to the perfect rounded curve of his buttocks.

“Oh God—are you going to…”

In answer, Spock laps at Jim’s entrance, circling his tongue around the rim before sliding it inside. Jim pants, pushing back against him; then moans when Spock curls his tongue in search of the spot that he knows will drive his Captain wild with need. Without stopping, he reaches a hand to Jim’s bedside drawer, searching for the supplies he suspects Jim keeps there.

Once he has located a tube of lube and slicked one finger, he slides it in beside his tongue. 

Jim _keens._ “C’mon, can take more. Please…”

Spock withdraws his finger and seizes one of Jim’s own hands, guiding it behind him and pressing one of Jim’s own fingers inside him beside Spock’s finger and tongue, a Vulcan kiss inside his beloved. The sensation of sliding his finger alongside Jim’s as warm heat clenches around them is almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jim is chanting as together they stretch him. “I’m ready. Spock, please—fuck me.”

Spock obeys, withdrawing and flipping Jim over to press his legs up over Spock’s shoulders. He forces himself to move slowly as he slides inside, Jim’s hot, tight warmth sucking him deeper. He has missed this feeling so desperately—would die for it, would kill for it. Nothing compares.

“Move, Spock. I’ve got you.”

Spocks pulls out and thrusts back in, angling to hit the spot that makes Jim groan with pleasure, his hand finding Jim’s erection to stroke him in time with his thrusts. It is pure, unadulterated bliss. Yet somehow Jim knows how to send him even higher: “Spock…” He catches one of Spock’s hands and brings it to his face. “Meld us.” 

Spock’s fingers are almost shaking as they splay across the meld points. “My mind to your mind…”

He sinks inside. Almost instantly, they explode together. The pleasure feedback loop is so intense that Spock loses everything he is for a moment. All that remains is Jim and the simple, joyful feeling he inspires. 

When Spock comes back to himself, it is impossible to regret his lack of control. He withdraws carefully, and is grateful that without the pollen he does not immediately desire intercourse again. It is perhaps the first time since the end of their last encounter that he has not burned with need. Instead, he lies beside his Captain and wraps an arm around him. Contentment thrums beneath Jim’s pulse. 

For a long moment they lie together, the sound of their elevated respiration filling the room. Jim’s gaze is locked on the ceiling. “So… you’ve been thinking about this.”

“Affirmative,” Spock says softly, stroking his arm.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Jim says warmly, teasingly; but when he turns to look at Spock, his gaze is serious. “And… now? What happens now?” 

“Now I find that I desire to repeat the experience as often as you will allow, and preferably with the knowledge that you will not engage in coitus with anyone other than myself.”

Jim’s eyes go very wide. Without the lingering effects on the meld, Spock could not so easily identify the collage of emotions in Jim’s gaze: _hope, desire… love?_

“Spock, you really want… that? With me?”

“Affirmative. I do not think I have ever desired anything with such intensity.”

“Well then, I’m all yours.”

“Yes,” Spock agrees, pulling him closer. “You are.”


End file.
